Helplessness Blues
by Pilot101
Summary: SUSPENDED FOR REVISION Another recount of Amell and Cullen's time in the circle. A story of real love in an unexpected place. I'm aiming for a realistic, but satisfying end. True to DA timeline, with hopefully more character development. Rating may rise. I own nothing.
1. Chapter 1

We had been gone from the Circle tower for six days, and still I could not sleep. Images of the twisted bodies of the dead, of the crazed abominations, plagued my mind, and would not abate, even when I opened my eyes. I had passed the first nights sleepless by the fire, taking watch while the others caught up on their much-needed sleep. Now, however, I wished only for the quiet oblivion brought by exhaustion—to exist only in a vacuum of darkness. Worse still, I couldn't stop rehashing every word Cullen had spat at me, his voice overflowing with virulent despair, his eyes full of desperation and hateful fear. A dead weight had settled over my heart, and I suspected that it, as much as the gruesome images of the slaughtered innocents, kept me from rest.

I heard a rustle from my left, and as I turned slightly, I saw Leliana approaching from her tent. She was still fully dressed, and looked as if she hadn't slept at all.

"Can't sleep?" I offered quietly, so as not to disturb the others.

"Not really. But it's not what you think." She paused, then sighed. "To tell the truth, I was wondering if you were alright. You haven't been sleeping since the tower, and you've talked even less, if it's possible." Settling on the ground next to me, though not so close as to be invasive, she cautiously continued. "I was wondering if…you'd like to talk. We haven't known each other long, but I understand that was your home before becoming a Grey Warden. Were I you, I doubt I could…I'd be far worse off."

I sat for a moment, allowing her words to sink in. Leliana had always been kind, if not altogether forthcoming about herself or her past. In all honesty, though, I could understand.

"Leliana it's…that's a wonderful thought but, you don't have to. I know you must be tired and I…won't be very good company." I couldn't look at her while she tossed around my reply in her head, so I settled for staring just above the softly crackling fire.

"Don't be silly, Solona. Like I said, we haven't known each other for long, but I would do far more for someone I consider a friend if I could. You look so…haunted. Please, tell me what's on your mind. Perhaps together we may find the resolution you lack."

It felt like my lungs were going to burst with all the words I wanted to say. Words of gratitude, of shame, threatened to escape, but I swallowed them, and settled only for a curt nod. Now that the offer had been made, I wanted desperately to tell someone, anyone, but I it wouldn't be easy. Lowering myself onto my back, I looked up at the clouded sky. For a long time, I remained silent.

"Do you remember the templar we rescued in the tower? The man imprisoned by Uldred just below the harrowing chamber?" I finally asked. My voice sounded faint, even to my ears, and I suddenly wanted to cry. Leliana's voice came from my immediate left, and I realized she had lowered herself to the ground next to me, and lay on her side facing me.

"You mean the man called Cullen? Of course, how could I forget that poor, tortured man." She tactfully left out Cullen's heated confessions, but still, there was no judgment in her Orlesian lilt.

"Yes. The things he said were true, and…not." It was difficult to word, even after having left the tower for so long. I had grown so accustomed to discretion. "When I was at the tower, before meeting Duncan, I…Cullen and I were…" I couldn't finish. What word would I use? Acquaintances? Friends? Lovers? I knew Leliana, obviously worldly in both understanding and experience, would know my implication. I rolled on my side to see her face, and I could make out her sorrowful expression. She looked at me with both understanding and pity, and somehow that made it hurt all the more. "After everything, I guess it just…it hurt to see him so beat down. The Cullen I knew would never have said those things. He was like an animal, beaten and cornered." My voice cracked, but my words continued to spill. "After everything he endured…what they did to him…"

"Solona, it's okay. You rescued him when he thought all hope was lost. The woman for whom he cared so deeply saved him from a fate worse than death." I appreciated Leliana's words, but it wasn't really the thought of Cullen's fate had we not intervened that troubled me so.

"Leliana, I…I…" and to my shame, a felt a tear hit my cheek. "He would hate me now simply for being what I am. For being a mage. And he has every right to after what those _animals_ did to him." I couldn't keep the hatred from my voice—death was far too good an ending for Uldred and his conspirators. "But still, after everything…I cannot bear the thought of him alive and…thinking ill of me." And that was the truth in the simplest words I could conceive. I would not say that I would willingly become tranquil to regain the one thing magic had taken from me with which I couldn't bear to part.

Leliana, too, remained silent, and I would have thought she was asleep had she not quietly reasserted herself.

"'Ona, how did you two meet?" So shocked was I by her question, that I responded with the exact desired affect—I laughed, a short bark of laughter. But it was genuine. I heard the smile creep into her voice. "You must know now that it is strictly forbidden for a templar and a mage to…fraternize. But surely you couldn't have when you first met! What was it like?" I rolled again to face her, and wiping the tear from my cheek, I couldn't help but smile at her curiosity. I remembered all over again how Leliana had endeared herself to me.

"Oh, come on. Do you really care to know?" The thought of telling her appealed to me—she would be the first.

"Of course! I love stories too much! Perhaps your love story will ensnare the heart of a traveler or two—perhaps I will write your great epic!" I had almost forgotten Leliana's colorful past as a bard.

"At least, then, if it is boring I know you will fill in the gaps with excitement and gut wrenching tragedy." I chuckled softly, "and I think I could live with that."

I rolled again onto my back and inhaled deeply, closing my eyes. I remembered every moment with Cullen like they had happened yesterday. I had spent hours taking each and every one of them out and turning them over until I knew their every contour. I had replayed my memories over and over, like movies in my head. Yet still, sinking again into my memories, the colors and sounds of the tower, of the mages and templars, remained as alive as I had then perceived them. After a few moments' pause, I began my tale.

* * *

><p>I first saw Cullen shortly after he had taken up his position at the Circle. I was in the library studying the theory of primal magic with my then friend Jowan, who, at the time, was also another apprentice (though his years at the Circle outnumbered mine). Jowan had given up studying his chosen text for some time and had resorted to tittering incessantly about his secret flame Lily, a girl I believed he had made up just to make the other mage apprentices jealous. He didn't even seem to mind that I wasn't listening.<p>

First Enchanter Irving and Knight Commander Gregoir were leading a new templar through the library on what I assumed was an explanatory tour of the tower. I remember admiring his tall stature, first, for there was little else to see besides his honey colored hair and hulking armor. As he neared, however, I couldn't help but allow my eyes to linger longer than would have been deemed appropriate—he had the most captivating eyes. From afar, they looked like liquid chocolate. Well, I mean, they were striking…and alluring, in the literal sense. His eyes flitted around the towering shelves, and then around the crowd of mages dispersed—some reading, others simply loitering and chatting. Then his eyes came to rest on Jowan, and me. I started when his eyes met mine, and there they lingered for a time—I cannot remember how long. Perhaps it really was only a moment, but it seemed like ages, and I just _knew_ he had caught me staring at him.

When he did eventually turn away as the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter proceeded farther down through the library, all the while commenting on this or that (I was too far away to hear), I felt myself blush. Whoever he was, I knew he must have thought me an idiot for ogling not only a complete stranger, but a templar, as well. Even so, I couldn't resist letting my eyes follow his slowly retreating back. He looked on attentively the Knight-Commander pointed something out beyond my field of vision.

I heard Jowan mumble something else, then quickly snort at something he found amusing. At this I snapped to look at him, probably looking every bit as guilty as I felt.

"What?" I asked, trying to sound as if I was still innocently engaged.

"I never thought I'd see the day Irving's star pupil got a crush on a templar…" he quipped, his voice positively dripping with impish delight. His eyebrows were arched high and he leaned back into his chair, crossing his palms behind his head. It struck me that, for all his schoolgirl tittering and seeming magical ineptness, Jowan was really the only person who could make me feel like an utter tit—and he had just hit home. I felt my blush creep up to my ears, and I quickly glanced down, hoping not only to appear less flustered than I obviously was, but also that my long locks would hide my red face. More to my embarrassment when I realized that I had unconsciously closed my book and pushed it forward on the table.

"I…I was just-" I began. "He's just so tall!" I finished lamely, as if this mystery templar was the tallest man I had ever beheld.

"Right. I guess those _sultry eyes_ and _defined cheekbones_ had nothing to do with your slack jaw…" He continued, flirtatiously rolling the templar's features off his tongue as of they were made of cream. In retrospect, I realize I could have made a thousand witty replies that would have satisfied Jowan—that I was wondering what the First Enchanter was saying, or perhaps that I had no idea Jowan swang that way. I said no such things, however, and only sighed and smiled in defeat. Perhaps that was for the best too, for it was Jowan, in fact, who started it all.

"Okay, but just because I was staring doesn't make it a crush," I logically countered. And that much, at least, was true.

"Fair enough," answered Jowan, "but I swear that's the first time I've ever seen you get all doe-eyed about some guy. But lo!" he fake gasped, "could he be _the one_?"

"Now that _is_ a ridiculous notion," I responded, my laughter escaping despite my attempts to keep is quelled. I stood and stretched. "Come on, Jowan. I don't know about you, but somehow studying is the last thing on my mind."

"Finally, I thought I was going to have to resort to sighing and shifting in my chair. What say you to a game of humpty dumpty? I've got some new reagents that say you can't be me three out of five." I smiled at started past him.

"You're on."


	2. Chapter 2

It was perhaps a week, maybe two, before I saw Cullen again. First Enchanter Irving had loaded me down with three higher-level primal spells to learn before we met again to practice, and I was feeling the pressure. Jowan, of course, had somehow gotten only one spell from his mentor, and to top it all off, still managed to guilt me into helping him with it. We had been tucked away near the supply store for what seemed like hours.

"I don't understand why this is so difficult, Jowan. It's a simple freezing spell. It's _the_ simplest freezing spell." I can't say I was the best teacher, even on my good days. Still, I tried to keep my patience.

"I'm sorry, 'Ona, it's just not coming! It's not for a lack of trying-"

"But it _is_ for a lack of focus," I interrupted irately. Jowan sighed and nodded.

"I'm sorry, 'Ona. Really. And thank you for helping, I just…I'm having…one of those days." I felt my frustration ebb away in the wake of cold understanding.

Every mage knows _those days_—the days when you think you'll suffocate, die if you spend one more second inside the tower. The days when hate for every templar corrupts your every fiber, every bone, and you don't know whether to scream or cry in bitter anguish. I had those days too, though admittedly not quite as often as Jowan. From the little I remember of my mother (I was sent to the tower when I was seven), I dwelt most often on her pride. My mother, a modest farmer's wife, had ridden through dark and hard times. But I remember her dogged look of determination—like she would prevail, at all cost. In these moments when I lost all hope for real happiness, for a real life, I remembered my mother, covered in dirt, and still ready for a fight. Most of me longed for the days when I no longer cling to dreams of any life than the one to which I had been confined—like I knew Irving and Wynne did not longer. But part of me hated and feared that moment of resignation more than anything. I was never what you might call rebellious. Sure, I had a sharp tongue I was not afraid to use, but in the grand scheme of things, I rather calmly accepted my fate, logically knowing there was little alternative—I chose to live (Oh, now look, I've gone and completely distracted myself!).

"Don't worry Jowan, it'll come to you. Let's take a break for a bit, shall we? I'm hungry, anyway." I was actually feeling a bit peckish, and hoped food would take his mind off our unending confinement, like it usually did.

"You're right. I could use a good ham," he smiled, and together we set off for the stairs. The dining hall was bustling as usual, there being a mixture of students eating, studying, socializing, or some combination thereof. Jowan went to fetch his ham, while I contented myself with a bit of bread and jam.

"What, you're not going to thank the Maker?" Jowan had always been more religious than I, and never passed up an opportunity to knock my moral standing down a few notches. "Fine, suit yourself," he shrugged, muttered a quick "thanks for the grub" under his breath, and embedded his face into his lunch. He at fervently, and I relaxed, knowing his mood would indeed lighten after eating a hearty meal. I, myself, had lost my appetite the moment I began contemplating my spells again. Inferno was the most advanced fire spell, and it was proving to be the most difficult. In addition to having very few opportunities to practice (apprentices had to sign up for space and time for spells as large as inferno), I was struggling with the magical theory, too…and my head hurt.

I huffed in my again flaring irritation, and settled instead for examining my nails. They were unremarkable—unpainted but clean and trimmed. My mind wandered, and I began thinking about the templar I saw that day in the library, for no reason at all, it seemed. I recounted the entire episode in my head, but still the intensity of his eyes remained fresh in my mind, and I found myself oddly fascinated. I wanted to know about him—who he was and from where he came. Jowan mumbled something through a mouthful of mashed potatoes, and I looked up just as he burst into the most disgusting, sneaky grin I had ever seen.

"What? Is there something on my face?" I deadpanned.

"I said it's the templar…" he replied. 'Was I _that_ obvious?' I thought, and blushed slightly. But before I could reply, Jowan stood, and abandoning his cleaned plate, began walking toward the stairs.

"What, you're just going to leave your stuff there?" I huffed in agitation, having to jump from my chair and skip a little to catch up. Jowan ignored my whiney protest and plowed forward quickly. Just shy of the stairs, however, he abruptly slowed almost to a stop, such that I barely had time to stop and whip around to see his face. Well, I really only got a quick glance at his pleased expression before I felt the whisper of magical energy and the formation of a thin layer of ice beneath my feet. I didn't even have time to be surprised before I slipped and careened face first into something hard…and metal…and tall.

My forehead hit the templar's metal chest plate so hard my hair, which had been twisted and bound over one shoulder, fell completely loose from its ribbon constraint, and I felt the slight trickle of blood from my hairline. I vaguely remembered Jowan gasping in surprise and the masculine "oh" that came when we collided. Strong arms reached up to steady me, one coming to rest on my waist just north of my hip bone, and one grasping my wrist that had instinctively raised to prepare myself for my fall. I was so surprised, for a moment, I just stood there, unsure of how to react to the slight heat of the templar's hands through his thick, armored gauntlets.

I mentally prepared myself to look up and make a swift apology, but little could I have prepared myself to look up and find myself nearly nose to nose with the templar I saw in the library that day. _Not chocolate_, I remembered thinking when I looked into his eyes—almond, with drops of honey is the best way I can describe them (though I realize the analogy to food may be a bit odd). His brows were furrowed in surprise, perhaps anger, I thought. But upon recognizing me they shot up in surprise. Awkward would have been my adjective of choice, for both of us seemed ready to blush from our heads all the way down to our toes. I opened my mouth to speak, but a sharp stab of pain from my head reminded me of our not entirely unfortunate collision.

"Ow!" I groaned, pulling my right arm free of his hold to dab at the blood that had dripped down from my hairline to my forehead. That seemed to wake everyone up, and the clamor of movement affirmed my fear that this templar was not alone in his patrol.

"Miss, are you alright?" came the concerned voice of the companion templar, a woman.

"Yes…I…" I stammered, standing back from the intimacy of the templar's support. Despite the pain, my embarrassment had caught up, and I found myself unable to look into his eyes, my own trained resolutely on the ground. _Ridiculous_, I thought, and took a deep breath. Jowan had done that on purpose. I composed myself and turned to look at his companion templar. "Yes, thank you. I apologize, Ser Knight-" I began, turning back to the mysterious templar, but was interrupted by his own interjection.

"Cullen," he said. Perhaps I was in shock, but I completely lost my train of thought.

"I'm sorry?" I asked, brows furrowing in confusion. Perhaps he hadn't spoken at all.

"Cullen. My name…" he responded, a bit distractedly. He was looking at me, and yet not. Realization dawned on me.

"Oh, forgive me, Ser Cullen. Perhaps I hit my head a little harder than I thought." I paused, hoping to calm my fluttering heart and flopping stomach. "My friend and I will be more careful, Ser," I finished, and hoping for a quick escape, I bowed slightly, as was proper in former situations, and without a second glance back at Cullen or Jowan, proceeded down the stairs.

When I knew that neither Cullen nor his female companion could see me, I shrank into the corner near the stairs, my hand clutched firmly over my pounding heart, my head resting against the cool, stone wall. My head hurt where it hit his templar armor, and I knew it would bruise, but at this moment, I couldn't bring myself to care. I replayed the incident over and again until I heard Jowan bounding down the stairs after me.

"'Ona? Solona?" He called, eyes searching.

"Here," I called from behind him. A wave of long overdue irritation swept over me, and I stood from the wall to face him. "What in the flaming sword was that Jowan?" I demanded, my hand now cradling my cut and bruised head. At least he had the wherewithal to look embarrassed.

"I'm sorry. Look, I know it was underhanded and childish-"

"You think?" I interjected, but he waved his hand to silence me.

"It wasn't exactly like I had planned. Well I didn't really have a plan, but…I didn't mean for you to hit him as hard as you did. I didn't mean to hurt you, is what I mean," he finished earnestly, his foot drawing small circles on the ground. "I just thought it would be funny."

I was so embarrassed still; I could feel myself shaking slightly with nerves.

"Could you at least…?" I motioned to my head. For all my magical skill, I had never excelled at healing magic—it had something to do with my psyche and connection to the fade, or so First Enchanter Irving had told me, once.

"Yes, of course," he huffed, as if he were embarrassed he hadn't thought of it first. I moved slightly closer so he could have easy access to my forehead, but he shifted away, uncomfortable at our proximity, it seemed.

"I'm not going to bite, Jowan," I teased, still noticeably annoyed.

"R-right, sorry." He cast the spell, and with the whisper of magical energy, I felt coolness on my forehead. The pain quickly subsided, and knowing it was done, I stepped back. Reaching up, I confirmed that no mark was left from the encounter, and it was if it never happened. "Peace between us?" Jowan asked tentatively. I could tell he was sincere in both his apology and anxiety.

"Of course. No harm done." For some reason, I felt like I had just kicked a puppy. "At least you got your spell to work…"


	3. Chapter 3

After our first, or I suppose it was the second, encounter, it seemed Cullen and I saw each other with increasing frequency. Our subsequent meetings were far less dramatic than that day in the dining hall, but with each grew what I can only describe as a great swell in my chest. Some days I would spend peacefully in the library with Jowan, studying spells Irving had assigned or the theory of magic. Other days, days when Cullen was on patrol, however, I could hardly focus. His very presence in the library, as vast as it was, held my attention, and I would find myself sitting extremely strait, or studying him, rather than my notes, in my periphery.

That may sound creepy, and I certainly felt it so, but at the time, my attention was purely out of curiosity. Compared to the templars I had grown up knowing, with the odd few joining their ranks over the years, Cullen was quite unique among them. He was quiet, yet his presence was always notable. He was unyielding, and yet seemingly relaxed. More than anything, however, he seemed to be genuinely kind. Templars that were unkind to, or overtly suspicious of us mages made our confinement all the more difficult. We are raised from birth to believe that we are just another Blight on mankind, and to be locked away with someone reasserting it over and over again, with no power to defend oneself, is enough to drive almost anyone to extremities. But Cullen was not like that. He treated the mages and apprentices alike with respect and an understanding he couldn't possibly have possessed. And with each passing day, I wanted to know more of him.

Jowan, not quite as dense as he might have had everyone believe, had noticed my growing interest, as well. For the first few days, running on a week, Jowan found my "infatuation", as he had so christened it, to be amusing. He would tease me relentlessly when he thought no one would overhear us, or go out of his way to draw attention to us when Cullen was present. In the weeks after, however, he became decreasingly enthralled with the absurdity of the entire situation, and dissolved into subtle agitation and moodiness. His snide jokes turned to snarky, underhanded comments, and he would scoff and roll his eyes if ever I was caught distracted. I should have known then that there was more at work than concerned friendship, but so entertained was I by my studies, both those of magic and Cullen, that I naively justified it as the natural irritation that came with living in the tower.

Occasionally, Cullen's eyes and mine would meet, and more than once, I got the impression I was not the only one consumed by interest. I remember one day we were both walking down the corridor, him perhaps for a patrol, and myself on my way up to the First Enchanter's study. I, of course, recognized him immediately, and my heart began beating so fervently I feared he might hear it, even from several paces away. I didn't think he would remember me, and so took this opportunity to gaze openly onto his face. Much to embarrassment, however, when he stopped the moment our eyes met and began speaking, a small smile playing on his lips. His voice was smooth, and so fixated was I on the rhythmic movement of his lips that I scarcely had the awareness to note his assertion.

"I never got the chance to properly apologize after our unfortunate meeting that day in the dining hall. I do hope your head is alright," he restated, gesturing to my now fully healed head. Blushing from the tips of my ears down to my toes, I nodded, unable to resist breaking into a small smile of my own.

"Oh, indeed. Thank you, Ser Cullen. I believe the only real injury sustained that day was one to my pride, so I fear it is I who should be making apologies! My friend and I…we really will be more careful from now on." _Please don't be scared of us…of me_, is what I wanted to say. But never would I trust my own lips to say it and not tumble disastrously over every syllable.

"Then I am glad to hear it. Perhaps your friend's mischief wasn't entirely without merit?" he asked softly, still smiling. His words made something in my chest tighten, and my stomach felt…bubbly and mushy. "What do they call you, if I may?" he continued, his voice still soft. His eyes bore into mine with soft concentration, and I found myself unable to look away.

"Amell. Solona Amell." My voice came out just as softly as his, and sounded foreign to my ears. I glanced down as I replied, self-conscious in my embarrassment. When I glanced back up, Cullen had taken a step back, and it was only then that I realized just how very close we had come to stand together. His warm scent hung in the air, and it stirred something deep in my stomach.

"Miss Amell," he finished, bowing. He gave me a look then, his brow furrowed and his mouth downturned, that would take many months for me to understand, and then, almost as quickly as he had come, he disappeared around the corner. I found myself rooted to the spot staring after him, still both shocked our exchanged had occurred at all, and embarrassed at how clumsy I must have looked, blushing and stammering. _Perhaps your friend's mischief wasn't entirely without merit_. Still, I kept hearing his voice in my head, and my heart felt as if it would beat itself it death. It was several minutes before I could sufficiently rouse myself to continue on my way, hand on my heart and head still abuzz.  
>So distracted was I for the rest of the day that First Enchanter Irving stopped our discussion midway, suspicion written in bold letters all over his wizened face.<p>

"Solona, what on earth has gotten into you, child? Don't tell me it's that fool Jowan you spend your time with. Has he done something to upset you?" he asked, standing and moving around his desk to stand to my left. I took it as my queue to stand as well, and lethargically moving opposite him, I couldn't help but sigh.

"No, sir. I just…well, I honestly don't quite know what's gotten into me. My head just hasn't been my own recently…" I said, trailing off. It took me a few moments, but I did realize, horrified, how my statement could have been interpreted. "Oh, sir, I didn't mean…I'm not…I'm just tired!" I squeaked in my haste to clarify, my hand shooting up to cover my mouth. But the First Enchanter just chuckled softly, and placing his hands on my shoulders, nodded in understanding.

"Hah, I do indeed know what you mean. Life in the Circle is not always conducive to one's peace of mind." I smiled, grateful. Irving, my private mentor now for three years, had always treated me with kindness and understanding, as if I were a daughter, and not a charge—strict, but patient and gentle. His gesture comforted me, and I felt the sting of guilt tug at my chest. I couldn't bring myself to tell him that my head was so full of a templar I could think of little else. So instead, I settled for nodding in silent agreement.

A look of wonder came over the First Enchanter's face, and moving to stand behind his desk again, he broke into a large smile—rare for one with such a heavy burden.

"Perhaps I have just the thing for you," he said, reaching down to root through a drawer. He emerged triumphant with a worn roll of vellum, and handed it to me. It was a request for an escort outside of the tower. _Outside_.

"Sir, is this…?" I asked, disbelief thick in my voice. He couldn't possibly have been giving this to me.

"It is a request for a templar escort, should a mage wish to venture briefly outside of the tower. They are rarely submitted, for as you can imagine, very little trust exists between the Circle and the templars." I stared in wonder at the page, suddenly overcome by the sentiment contained in Irving's gesture.

"But, I am only an apprentice…" I said, unsuccessfully masking my disappointment.

"And a damn good one, if I am any judge!" he retorted, smiling. "I could arrange a templar escort for you for an afternoon, I think. You have been a remarkably good apprentice, and I would not be surprised if you one day go on to be First Enchanter, yourself. For official purposes, however, you could practice the harvest of crafting reagents." He didn't press me for a reply, but his eyes did linger on my still disbelieving face. I simply couldn't take my eyes from the page, or disengage my mind from the thousands of fantasies that now played out in my head. _Grass_…_Water_…_Sky…_Things I hadn't experienced first hand for fifteen years.

"I would…I don't know what to say. I would love that, sir," I finally choked out, my emotions spilling out onto my cheeks as small tears. My entire body felt numb, and every thought of Cullen had been driven out of my mind. I could think only of what might lay beyond the stone walls I had known all my adult life.

"Then it is settled," he replied, reaching to reclaim the vellum form. "I must ask two things of you, however, my child." His voice had become serious, again, and I could it was time for business talk. "First, that you speak of this privilege to no one. This I'm sure you may understand, for the others would revolt in their envy. Second…" he paused, as if unsure how to continue, his voice becoming very grave. "The world outside is more beautiful than any storybook or memory may relate. A view from a window tells but a little of the vastness of the world. You may experience only but a little of this…but I must ask that not only do you return to the tower without struggle thereafter, but that you remain, in peace." His eyes grew sad as he finished, and he heaved a great sigh. "If you can agree to these terms, I shall begin the motions immediately."

He didn't need to tell me twice. I shook my head and choked out an "of course, sir" before standing, quickly wiping at my wet cheeks. Irving walked around his desk, the scroll abandoned on its top, and put his hands on my shoulders again. His troubled look hadn't quite faded, and I couldn't resist the urge to wrap my arms around him tightly and lay my head on his shoulder. It was the only way I think to express the depth of my gratitude. He seemed surprised at first, stiffening at my impulsive embrace, but he soon relented and wrapped his own, thin arms around me, a soft chuckle escaping. That was the only time I ever embraced Irving, and I am truly sorry for it. For all he gave me—my knowledge and a large part of my sense of self—I had only ever thanked him in words. And now…well, now it is too late.

At any rate, I didn't understand at the time, but now I see clearly that Irving foresaw the pain that would inevitably come with my brief venture into the world outside the tower. I didn't really fully comprehend all that depended on my success. That he was still willing to give me a taste of the life I had been denied, knowing al that could have gone wrong, still touches me, and I will always be grateful for the faith he placed in me.

Feeling significantly lighter, I remember humming all the way to library to immediately begin the study of harvesting techniques. I wasn't even bothered when Jowan sustained a glare in my direction for upwards of an hour.


	4. Chapter 4

"So, a month had passed before you really even knew each other existed," Leliana mused. "How long exactly did you know each other? I mean, you both sure took your sweet time, but it couldn't have been _that_ long." The open road from the Circle tower had proved to be uneventful, and well…boring. After about an hour or two of silence, Leliana had appeared by my side, blue lamp-like eyes betraying her obvious request. So, lagging slightly behind the others (Sten on point, with Morrigan and Alistair on either side), I continued to relay my memories.

"I would say it was close to six months. Not very long at all." Leliana raised her eyebrows in mock surprise, then let out a girlish giggle.

"You show such confidence on the battlefield, I guess I never took you for the shy sort," she added, stretching her arms above her head.

"Me neither. It started off slowly, I'll admit that. And it might even be argued that it never really started at all. But once the truth of the matter became undeniable to both of us…the whole affair just caught fire. It burned so fiercely that it threatened to destroy itself…" I shook my head, unable to continue without pain and anger welling up.

"And…did it?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Did it burn itself out?" Leliana was not looking at me, but at the ground passing steadily beneath her feet—very tactful. I laughed—an empty, bitter sound.

"No." I forced myself into composure. Leliana could not know how enraged the very thought made me. "It was smothered."

True to his word, First Enchanter Irving called me to his study the following day to confirm that he had, indeed, spoken to Knight Commander Gregoir, and with luck, a tentative date would be arranged before the week was out.

"I do not foresee any issue, but it would be wise to be in your best behavior until a date has been settled." Irving shifted in his large chair, a look of discomfort passing over his aged features. "Not that you are ever out of line (otherwise this arrangement would never have been suggested), but I'm sure Gregoir would jump at any cause for refusal." I nodded in understanding, still feeling awkward from the gravity of the honor that had been extended.

"Of course, sir. I still can't believe this is real. I mean, I understand so much is still uncertain, but that the possibility could even exist is…" I blushed, realizing I had begun to ramble, my voice becoming giddy and my words running over each other in their haste.

"I am glad the prospect pleases you. You are like a daughter to me. It pains me to see you suffer in the thankless life we mages lead here." He leaned forward in his chair, his palms resting his knees. "There is still the matter of your escort."

"What do you mean?" A small jolt of panic twisted in my gut.

"Given the exceptionality of the circumstances, this task would be by volunteer only. And while each templar is fully qualified and equipped to handle a mage, there are few within the ranks here that the Knight Commander would consent to escorting you."

"Oh…I see," I replied, trying but failing to not sound too disappointed. I remember feeling so small in that chair opposite Irving, wringing my hands, trying not to give into my anxiety. I had come to look forward to this excursion so much those past days, and they consumed my every waking hour, in some fashion or another.

"I'm not saying you have little chance, my dear girl. Do not worry so!" He said leaning forward slightly, his right hand outstretched on his desk. "I mean only that if and when this entire matter is settled, it is to that templar, or that group of templars, that you will owe a great thanks." I breathed a sigh of relief, unable to resist smiling. Of course Irving knew best, but I still couldn't entirely dispel my fear that no one at all would volunteer to escort an apprentice out of the tower for an entire day.

"I cannot thank you enough for this, sir. Please, if there is anything I can do…" I finished, leaning forward in my earnest. But Irving only smiled that same sad smile as the night before and stood to see me out.

"Make the most of this experience, dear girl. Such opportunities are few and far between. Even for an old mage like me," he chuckled, a hand placed on his spine. Irving is certainly spry for one his age, but I could tell even then that mundane tasks like standing up or bending down gave him pain. I was again struck by a desire to embrace him, but I settled only for clasping his free hand in both of mine.

"I will, sir." And with a bow, I left for the dormitory.

It was a little over five days before Jowan appeared, huffing and puffing, saying I was to report to the Knight Commander's office immediately. I knew the First Enchanter had said it could be almost a week, but by day three I had started pacing, and by that morning I had begun unconsciously scratching and pulling at my eyebrows in my anxiety. Jowan bent over panting, hands on his knees and head nearly between his legs.

"Knight Commander…wants to see you in his office…He said it was urgent." He managed to get out between breaths. His face was flushed, and I could see small beads of sweat forming on his brow.

"Jowan! Why are you…Why the hurry?" The tower wasn't small, but it was by no means large either. Jowan's disheveled appearance both startled and concerned me. I closed the distance between us leaned down to lightly touch his shoulder. He immediately straightened, taking a step back, as if my touch had hurt him. "Jowan, what's going on?" I asked again, this time more forcefully than the last. He fidgeted slightly at my stern tone.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out; Gregoir just pounced on me in the dining hall. Well, I was with Lily, which sort of made it worse. He just did a lot of shouting and then stormed out." Jowan took another breath to calm himself, and I felt cold dread in my legs. _He said no_, was all I could think, my stomach sinking down to my toes. "What's wrong? Do you know anything about this?" Jowan asked.

"I…I have no idea. I hope it's not too bad!" I lied, my smile most likely looking as forced as it felt. I wasn't usually a bad liar, but when it came to Jowan I felt like a criminal.

Those past five days had been terrible. Jowan was my best and oldest friend at the tower, and hiding something this important from him had literally kept me awake at night. I had wanted so badly to tell him, even though I knew he would bristle in jealousy. The night after Irving and I had spoken for the second time, I had even crept over to his bunk whilst everyone slept, hoping to find him awake like I did some nights. But when I saw him snoring into his pillow, lost in some dream, I lost my nerve. I hadn't worked it up since then, and it seemed now it was too late.

"Yes, well. I wouldn't keep him waiting today. If he had been any angrier he would have been breathing fire…" he said, shuddering. I laughed and nodded despite the growing lead in my stomach, holding my hands up.

"All right, I'm going. Sure you don't want to come with?" I offered, jokingly, knowing he would refuse.

"As much fun as that'd be…" He mock bowed and made for what I guessed was his bunk as I turned away. I was glad he left when he did, for my capacity for anything other than panic had become surprisingly low. Gathering every ounce of courage I possessed, I steeled myself for the ensuing meeting with the Knight Commander and began making my way up to the fourth floor.

I climbed the stairs slightly in wonder—being a mage, I had no cause to go up to the fourth floor, the entirety of which consisted of the templars' quarters. I remember having been only twice in all my fifteen years at the tower, once by accident, when I was very young and was still liable to get lost on the odd occasion, and once to see Gregoir, who, at the time, was only a Knight Captain. Our last meeting was just as unpleasant as I felt this one was going to be—I had accidently set one of female templar's hair (Lorena? Lara? Something like that…) on fire, and Gregoir not only made me write her a two page formal apology, but put me on kitchen duty for a month, too. If I remember correctly, the only person who got any enjoyment out of that fiasco was Jowan, and it was only because he got to laugh at my filthy, food covered robes at the end of every day.

Still, it was with a sick and uneasy stomach that I ascended, trying my best not to look at the templars I passed on the way. I felt guilty for absolutely no reason, and I tried to remind myself that I had done nothing wrong as I finally spotted the Knight Commander's office. Two helmeted templars stood vigilant on either side, and signaled for me to wait while one knocked on the door. I heard a muffled "enter", and was swept into the office by the two templars. Unfortunately, Jowan hadn't been kidding, either. Gregoir's face was screwed up and slightly sweaty, bent over his vellum covered desk.

"Just a moment, if you please," He muttered, only looking up briefly to gesture to an uncomfortable looking chair across from his desk. I nodded and sat, perhaps a little too quickly, as the chair made an awkward creek as I practically threw myself into it. He was perusing several vellum scrolls, some with elaborate maps drawn over them, others with writing too small for me to read without being obvious. I settled for scanning the shelves of his comparatively small office.

Whereas Irving's study was littered with books and odd trinkets he had either made or collected over the years, Gregoir's office was sparse, with stacks of vellum maps and scrolls as the only main attractions. The wood of the chair clashed painfully with my bottom, and I tried to shift quietly so as not to disturb him. Perhaps ten minutes past, my heart and mind racing, before Gregoir heaved a great sigh and sat back from a particularly text laden scroll. He covered his face with one hand, a look of weariness passing over his hardened features.

"Forgive me, young lady. I'm afraid Ferelden is in quite a state," He drawled, sounding very tired. He straightened in his chair and leaned forward, his forearms coming to rest on his desk, his gloved hands clasped together. "I apologize if I seem short, but now is simply inconvenient to have to worry about a mage, or apprentice, taking a field trip." I knew I should have understood, but I couldn't help feeling insulted and indignant at his offhand assertion. I knew Gregoir to be fair and just, if not obviously biased, but I hated feeling small and chastised. "Nevertheless, Irving has pushed, and I must therefore respond."

Shifting some of the scrolls on his desk, Gregoir pulled the same scroll Irving had presented only days ago. His eyes danced over its contents before he threw it gently onto the desktop.

"I understand you to be Irving's only apprentice?" He asked, leaning back to scrutinize me, his hands now resting in his lap.

"Yes, ser," I quickly responded, my throat now dry. My heart was still hammering in my chest.

"And the purpose of this little excursion is, what… 'hands-on practice of reagent harvesting techniques'?" He sounded skeptical and slightly annoyed, his face imitating his question. I blushed.

"Yes, ser. First Enchanter Irving wishes I learn the practical in addition to the theoretical." _Well, that was obvious Solona_, I thought, beginning to feel sheepish. I decided then it was best if I just speak as little as possible, lest I put my foot too far into my mouth.

"I see. And you realize that if I were to consent to such a jaunt, several names would be on the line? In addition to yours and the templar escorting you, but mine and First Enchanter Irving's, as well?" He stared at me hard from beneath his eyebrows, which were drawn together in concentration. I nodded quickly.

"Yes, ser. The First Enchanter has impressed upon me the delicacy of this matter," I replied, trying to sound as sincere as I felt. In truth, I held Irving far too dearly to risk his name on a last minute escape, which would most likely fail, at any rate.

"Huh." He looked at me long and hard, before finally sitting forward again. Withdrawing a long, ornate quill, he scribbled something at the bottom of the page before turning back to me. "I believe you," He finally said, and held the vellum scroll forward for me to see his spiky signature at the bottom of the page. "I will be assigning Ser Gavin as your guard. Are you acquainted with him?"

"No, ser. I don't believe so."

"Then it's just as well. I will arrange for your outing to be in three days time. You will be permitted to leave the tower for seven hours." He rolled the scroll up and stood, gesturing towards the door. I too stood, and bowing low, I quickly left. _Before he changes his mind_, I thought, almost running. I had made it to the stairwell before I burst into excited giggles, trying my best to cover my mouth with my hands. I remember resting my head on the wall, not caring that the templars passing gave me incredulous looks or tried not to stare. I was the happiest I had ever been, and I wasn't about to let anyone else bring me down. When I finally thought I could walk straight, I headed for the library, hoping Jowan would be there.


	5. Chapter 5

For the following two days, I swear I was on a cloud. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face, and I think my mood even improved Jowan's, which had, for some reason, taken a turn for the worse. He had become silent and moody, and more than once I caught him looking at me as if I were a specimen for evaluation. I thought nothing of it at the time, responding only with smiles and playful nudges. The night before I was to leave the tower, however, I had just changed into my night shift and settled into my bunk (apprentices slept in bunk beds, and mine, thankfully, was on the bottom) when I saw Jowan's silhouette approaching from across the chamber. And something wasn't quite right.

It may sound strange, but this sort of thing wasn't at all odd for us. Technically, we were supposed to be in bed, but there were no templars inside the dormitory, and so sometimes we would sneak out of bed for "secret midnight meetings", as we called them. Usually we would just play cards and drink into the night, discussing whatever it was that played on our minds (No, Leliana, nothing like _that_, you pervert). That night, however, Jowan was still fully dressed, and his hair was mussed like he had been trying to pull it out. I moved over in my small bed so he could lie down, our faces close enough to whisper.

"What's up?" I whispered, the sheet over the bottom of my face. I always did this unconsciously whenever we squashed together on one of our tiny twin sized beds.

"'Ona, if I asked you a question, would you answer me honestly? Brutally honest?" Jowan's eyebrows were drawn together, and he worried his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Of course, Jowan. You don't even need to ask. What's going on?" Let me clarify. It was normal for us to convene after hours, it was _not_ normal for Jowan to be moody and then ask me soul-searching questions in the middle of the night. I felt the sigh of dread in the back of my mind. Perhaps I knew something was amiss even then.

"What if there were this person…a person you had known for a long time. What if you had something important to tell her, but you just couldn't?" I really hated it when Jowan did this circuitous line of questioning. I hated it almost as much as when he asked pretty lower level apprentices to tutor him just so he could stare at them while they talked.

"Oh for Andraste's sake, Jowan. Really? Just tell her. Is this about Lily, again?" I couldn't hide the irritation from my voice. When he wasn't sighing about how wonderful she was, he was worrying about whether she really liked him or not. It was amusing the first time, but after the 200th time it had gotten really old.

"Not exactly. And I'm just asking in the hypothetical realm! What if you couldn't tell her? What if you missed your chance?" I rolled my eyes, trying but failing to stifle a yawn.

"There's no such thing, and you know it. Especially not here. The world is such that nothing happens just once." I had given this particular speech on several occasions before, and remembered it not because of the frequency with which I relayed it, but because it was the last speech my mother had given me when the templars came to take me away. She wiped the tears off my cheeks and told me not to fret—"The Maker works in mysterious ways," she had said. My faith had diminished with each passing year in that tower, but I had held on to her words, knowing them to be true, in a way.

Jowan looked pained at my response, the corners of his mouth turning down. I felt terrible, especially given that I had been concealing my impending outing, and reached out a hand from beneath my covers to rub his arm. He looked at me then, his gaze so intense I was frozen in surprise. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but shut it quickly and looked away. He scooted back and eased off the bed then, his lanky hair shadowing his face in the already dim chamber. I reached out a hand and grabbed the sleeve of his robe, but he just shook me off and retreated back to his bunk in silence. I stared after him, but he didn't look back.

When I had finally resettled into my bed, my stomach felt sick, and my head was so full. I worried about Jowan and his ambiguous line of questioning, but more than anything, I worried about my leaving the tower. Now that I stood on the edge, that unknown abyss stretching before me, I was more scared than anything. I had no idea what it would be like, or how I would feel. I feared losing control of myself—something, as an apprentice, I had been taught to maintain at all costs. I feared the templar with whom I would be released. What if he were mean and cruel, prejudiced against mages as many templars were? What if something went wrong and they called it off? What if...what if…? So many questions swirled around in my head, and I thought I would never sleep. But sleep I did, and though it was fitful and light, I awoke the next morning having never felt more refreshed or content.

That, of course, didn't last for long. I was to meet the First Enchanter and Knight Commander in the tower foyer at ten o'clock sharp, and by nine thirty, I had already finished my preparations. I had gone early to the stock room and picked up the necessary containers for the reagents I was expected to harvest from Owain. I had reviewed my collection notes twice, once when I first woke up, and once after I felt everything was in order. I had made my bed and tidied up my trunk area. I had even donned my nicest robes and fixed my long hair in a bun on the crown of my head. Wisps of shorter hair kept escaping closer to my forehead, but I soon gave up the fight when I realized there was nothing to be done for them. Ten minutes to go, and I had settled for pacing the washroom area, trying to keep out of sight.

I was just about to leave when I saw Jowan rush in, his robes billowing around him. He strode purposefully over to the window and stood there, facing the bright outdoors, his fists clenched and shaking at his sides. I had never seen him act like this, and it scared me. I stayed hidden behind the wall, hoping he wouldn't come back here and catch me watching him. I felt the minutes tick by, and I silently willed him to leave so I could make it to the foyer in time. He suddenly turned and kicked the nearest apprentice's trunk, his face eerily stoic, before striding out as determinedly as he had entered. I stood shaking for a moment, unsure what to think or do. But I heard two other younger apprentices enter, chatting about an apprentice named Eric, and I realized there was no time to waste.

When I finally made it to the foyer, the First Enchanter, Knight Commander, and another templar, who I could not see, but assumed was Ser Gavin, were already present. Irving noted my arrival, and Gregoir and Ser Gavin turned to greet me. Gregoir seemed in a far better mood than three days ago, and greeted me with a slight dip of his head. I returned the bow, though mine was significantly lower, and nearly dropped my pack, which was slung over my shoulder, when I turned to bow to Ser Gavin and found Ser Cullen staring back. He seemed just as shocked as I was, and belatedly made his own bow in haste.

"Ser Cullen, I had no idea…" I began, my heart now pounding so loudly I swear Gregoir could hear it.

"Ah, yes. Young Cullen here will be your escort today. Circumstances have, unfortunately, taken Ser Gavin from the tower," noted Gregoir. I looked to Irving for confirmation, who nodded in solemn agreement.

"Of course," I replied, feeling increasingly awkward.

"Very well, then. Cullen, if you please?" asked Gregoir, pulling Cullen aside. They began speaking in hushed tones, and so I turned back to Irving, who had advanced to stand before me.

"Now, remember, you have seven hours. Do try not to be late, and it would help if you actually took time to collect some reagents while you are out," he added with a chuckle. "But have fun, my dear. You deserve it." He placed his hands on my shoulders, as he often did, and squeezed slightly. Gregoir and Cullen reappeared, and I stood back, signaling my readiness.

"Seven hours," Gregoir repeated, giving Cullen a sharp look. Cullen nodded in understanding, and moved to open one of the large, iron-ridden doors guarding the only entrance and exit from the tower. He opened it wide enough to go through, then held it for me to follow. I approached it slowly, my feet suddenly having gone to stone. I couldn't help but look back at Irving when I reached the door, who was standing with arms behind is back. He gave me an encouraging nod, and before I could talk myself out of it, I stepped forward and let the heavy door slam shut behind me.

I closed my eyes against the brightness of the sun, but my eyelids still glowed a bright orange. The wind was blowing slightly, and I remember thinking I was glad I pulled my hair up. I could hear the tall grasses swaying with the breeze, and the sounds of the water lapping at the rocks on the shore in the distance. It was warm, and I could feel the heat of the sun through my robes. It was perfect. More perfect than I ever could have imagined.

"Miss, are you…?" Cullen quietly began, but I silenced him with a small wave of my hand. _Just a moment longer_, I silently pleaded, my eyes still closed tightly. I inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the spring air. I contemplated, for just a moment, going back into the tower. Going back to life as I knew it before—quiet and blissfully unaware. But that moment passed, and I knew it would never be the same again, no matter how hard I tried. Life as I knew it was over, and I had already leapt into that unknown abyss I had feared, not long ago. When I opened my eyes, I saw a world more beautiful than any view from a window.

I remembered playing on my parents' farm as a child. I remembered chasing the chickens, and terrorizing the cows at every turn. I remembered coming home all covered in mud from having played with the other children. But none of those memories could have prepared me for the beauty of that one moment, when I first opened my eyes. The waters of Lake Calenhad glittered in the sunlight, and the grasses danced in waves to the wind. The sky was pale blue, with not a cloud in sight. And there I was, in the middle of it all.

I remember being unable to contain not only my smile, but my tears, too. I had never been so happy, so in awe of beauty, and it literally brought tears to my eyes. I laughed as I tried to stem their relentless flow, wiping them quickly on the sleeves of my robes. I was sure Cullen must have thought me crazy, but he just remained silent, and held out a small linen kerchief when I could contain my tears no longer. I managed a small "thanks" before wiping my eyes and dabbing at my cheeks. It smelled of herbs and soap—clean.

"You know, it's been fifteen years," I said suddenly, almost surprising myself. I wanted to tell him. I wanted him to understand this moment. "When I arrived, it was dark. I was seven, and…I didn't understand." I turned to look at him then, confident I would cry no more. Talking seemed to help suppress the great swells of emotion I was feeling. "If I had known…" I trailed off, lost once again in the scenery around us. He looked like he was struggling internally with something—perhaps words, perhaps thoughts. In a way I understood, and I smiled as I handed his kerchief back to him.

Turning away, I walked slowly to the edge of the stone laid path and, slipping off my thin cloth slippers into one hand, my other setting my pack lightly on the stones, I put one foot tentatively down in the long grass. It was cool and scratchy, and tickled my shins. I turned back to Cullen so he might have some warning, that same silly grin still plastered on my face, then broke into the fastest sprint I could muster. I heard him call out to me, to slow down, to stop, but I couldn't. It felt so good to stretch, to literally be free. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me, through the grass, and down to the rocky coast. I tripped a little as my sensitive foot made contact with something sharp, but I couldn't stop. I ran straight down to the waters edge, and without thinking, plunged in headfirst. I couldn't swim, but it was so shallow I knew it didn't matter. All that mattered were the smooth rocks and sands that lined the shore, and I remember just standing there, feeling them between and beneath my toes.

The water was murky, and the sediment swirled around my legs where I had disturbed the water. I heard the splash behind me, and was about to turn to reassure Cullen I wasn't going to run when I felt his vice like arm around my midriff, picking me up off my feet and hauling me out of the water. I was so surprised I had barely enough time to protest before he fell over backwards, taking me with him. We landed unceremoniously on the rocky shore, and while it hurt, I couldn't help but let out peels of laughter. Cullen shifted so I was on my bottom next to him, and looking over, I could see both confusion and bewilderment written beneath his mask of irritation. I must have looked a mess, my hair all wet and hanging out of the bun in which I had fixed it, and he looked absolutely ridiculous, bits of seaweed clinging to his shiny metal armor. I couldn't help it—I laughed even harder, my stomach beginning to hurt from the effort. Cullen blushed and looked down. But to my everlasting surprise, and delight, the corners of Cullen's mouth began to twitch, until finally, he let out a laugh of his own.


	6. Chapter 6

A great, massive thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to send encouragement via the reviews! A few of you expressed concern that nothing else would be writ, and I have published this chapter just to kill that notion! I do apologize for the delay, but as it is (technically) summer (and my classes are not in session) I now have very little occasion to sit down and spend extended amounts of time on the computer. I had planned on not uploading until I got back to school, but your comments have reminded me that it's best not to let a story stagnate! So thank you for reading, please let me know of any errors I missed in my haste to publish this, and enjoy!

* * *

><p>I can't really say with any certainty how long we both sat there, drenched and laughing. When we both finally fell silent, each listening to the gentle lap of the water against the shore, I remember Cullen reaching over and pulling a stray bit of seaweed out of my hair, his eyes glowing almost wine in color from the sunlight, as if they were lit from within. I couldn't help but stare, eyes widened in surprise. I hadn't quite known what to expect, his armored hand reaching out to me, but I swallowed a small pang of disappointment when I felt him extract the slimy debris from my hair, laughing softly at the face I must have made. His eyes caught mine, and quite suddenly he looked pained, wincing almost. His eyebrow drew together, and I could feel him lean back, his head turned slightly to one side. I blushed, thinking I had somehow given offense.<p>

"Ser Cullen, are you alright?" I asked, reaching out my hand, but he shook his head and waved me away.

"Forgive me, I was just…Please don't run away like that again." It looked like his thoughts had finally caught up with him, and he turned sharply to face me, his face no longer betraying any emotion, except perhaps irritation. I wanted to be sorry, I really did, but how could I? How could I be sorry for any of it? I sighed, and relaxed onto my back, not caring how the rocks dug into my spine at their odd angles. A soft wind rose up over the grasses, causing them to sway noisily and ripples to form on the water. I felt my skin pebble beneath the heavy cloth of my robes, and turning to look at Cullen, I could see him shift from cold, too.

"I _am_ sorry I gave you a fright," I said, suddenly remembering what Irving had said in his office that day. "I should be thanking you. Without you, none of this would have been possible." He looked down at me quietly, that same disturbed look creeping back onto his face. He opened his mouth to speak, inhaling as he did so, but quickly closed it and settled for a nod. I was disappointed, but not everything could be perfect, I suppose—he was still a templar, and I was still a mage. We could be friendly, sure, but we could never be friends. He stood then, brushing off his armor with his hands and smoothing out the cloth of his lower armor against the chainmail concealed beneath. I too sat up, slipping my shoes, which were now wet, back onto my feet. I unwound the rest of my hair from the bun in which I had fixed it, and was just about to re-pin it when Cullen turned and offered me a hand up. His gesture surprised me, especially given that he still seemed slightly annoyed at my admittedly child-like antics, but I accepted it nonetheless. My palm in his, Cullen had only to pull slightly to drag my light frame up, and I teetered a little, my footing unsure on the rocks.

"Are we not here for your reagents?" He asked then, stepping quickly away from me the moment I had regained my footing. He seemed almost careful to stay a respectable distance from my person.

"Ah, yes," I replied, still giddy from my laugh attack and sounding stupid even to myself. He nodded sharply in response and turned away quickly, heading back towards the tower door, which I found was surprisingly far away. "Wha…Where are you going?" I asked, a little panicked. Don't misunderstand—I was thrilled to be outside that wretched tower, but I was completely inexperienced in matters of 'the real world', and didn't receive any combat training until I arrived at Ostagar, which was still for many months to come. A hundred scenarios ran through my head as I watched Cullen and, more importantly, his sword, walk briskly away from me, all of which involved my bloody corpse being eaten by hungry, rabid wolves. "Cullen!" I yelled shrilly, unconsciously abandoning his title as I ran to try and catch up with him. He stopped abruptly and turned to face me, looking both exasperated and terribly irritable. I blushed, realizing how silly I must have looked—a twenty-two year old woman just shy of holding his hand as if I were a child lost in the dark. It was even worse when I realized he had returned only for the pack I had unceremoniously discarded in my haste to sample the world.

I couldn't decide whether it was in duty or kindness that he showed me such patience, but when he picked up the small but weighty linen pack, instead of handing it to me, as I had expected, he tucked it securely under his arm, adjusting it until satisfied it would not move.

"You don't have to," I started, holding my hand out expectantly. My robe was still wet and clung uncomfortably to my skin.

"I know," he replied evenly, looking down at me. "And yet, I will." It seemed even he was surprised at his words, and he coughed a "Do you know the way?" to cover what I suspected was a blush and not the heat of the sun creeping up his neck. It all felt so surreal—talking to him there, under that glorious sky. It was almost something I would have dreamt up, and I couldn't help but let out a small laugh, unable to resist envisioning where the day would end if this really were a dream. I didn't think I would have entirely minded it either.

"I don't, actually," I admitted, breaking into a smile and holding my palms up for emphasis. "But I say we start with those trees over there," I offered, pointing to what looked to me like a copse behind him. If we were lucky, there would perhaps be both elfroot and deathroot to be found in those trees, and at least then I could produce evidence of a day spent not entirely on what equated to holiday. Cullen nodded his head in silent agreement, pointedly ignoring my private amusement, and just as swiftly as before, turned and walked away.

"It is embrium," I explained absently, delicately extracting my pack from Cullen's metal grip. Kneeling down into the cool, shaded dirt, I carefully untied it and dug around, its contents clanging together noisily, until I triumphantly emerged with a small, glass jar. "I have, for obvious reasons, never seen them in nature, but we use them in the tower to make therapeutic oils and soaps. You might even have used them, yourself." I sighed, turning to look a Cullen. He stood a few paces away, leaning against the trunk of a nearby tree with his arms crossed over his chest. He wasn't looking at me, but somewhere far away—over the grasses, perhaps over the mountains in the distance. "They say that a dying princess was surrounded by embriums, her parents hoping to bring color and life to her in her final days of life. When they thought all hope was lost, though, she suddenly began to recover. It was their delicate scent that roused her, and the beauty of their petals that sustained her, they said." I didn't mind that Cullen wasn't really listening—after all, Maker knew Jowan never listened. But something about just chatting there seemed so natural, so…_nice_.

I drew from my pack a small knife and cut the stems of the delicate flowers, placing all but one carefully in the class jar. The last I held close to my nose, inhaling deeply its floral scent.

"It is as beautiful as they say," I remarked softly to myself, breaking into a soft smile. And it was. The sweet, but light fragrance soothed my chest, and it felt like my insides had turned to warm liquid.

"May I see?" asked Cullen, his voice so soft I barely heard. I looked up, surprised, to see him standing away from the tree, stooped over to be almost at eye level. I nodded, still smiling, and held the flower, which was nearly the size of my palm, out to him. He stood rigid for a moment, as if unsure how to proceed, then straightened and began removing one of his gauntlets. Undoing the buckles underneath his elbow, and slipping the metal appendage from his arm, Cullen tucked his newly freed glove beneath his fully clad arm.

"I think…my mother might have grown these," he said, reaching out his bare hand. I held the flower up to him, but I couldn't take my eyes from his naked skin. Light scars and scratches decorated his thin but calloused hand and wrist, his knuckles white from scarring, and my skin burned where our fingers met. "I can hardly remember. But your story…it seems so familiar." He held the bloom close to his face and inhaled deeply, his eyes fluttering closed. Truthfully, I felt like I was seeing something that ought never to be seen. It struck me how gentle Cullen appeared, though his hands were scarred from battle and his body clad in armor.

"Were you very young then…?" I left it open ended, not sure how long he had been an initiate in the Chantry. I didn't want to pry, but I certainly couldn't help but be curious, either. He had only removed a small portion of his armor, and yet our being there felt so intimate—so personal. I had wanted to know him before, when my only experiences with him had been forced and awkward. But now that I had seen him here—talked with him, laughed with him, even—I was both scared and excited.

"Too young to remember, at least," he replied with a sigh, carefully evading my inquiry. And yet, he looked so disappointed, visibly deflating. "Something about them just seems so familiar. Yet I don't think the sisters in the Chantry ever grew them."

"You should keep it," I said, hoping to keep the mood light. It may have looked like the kind gesture, but part of me wanted him to remember. I knew, whatever happened, that I would never forget those hours—those moments when, if I closed my eyes and pretended, I wasn't a mage and he wasn't a templar. I could pretend that life was everything I had dreamt it would be, and we were just two normal people, out in that world. And part of me wanted him, even if only the smallest part, to hold on, as well.

"I…that is a kind thought. But it would serve you far better," he replied, and thrusting the flower into my hand, he turned and jammed his gauntlet back on, quickly refastening it into place. I felt stung, and jammed the remaining blossom into the jar perhaps a little too harshly, screwing the cap on extra tightly for good measure. Practically throwing the delicate jar into my pack and jerking the ties fast, I stood and brushed the dirt from my damp robes. Cullen seemed to have regained himself, and stooped to replace the small linen bundle into the nook of his arm.

"Onward then," I muttered, and began, for lack of better words, stomping deeper into the grove without another glance back at him.

I'll admit, Cullen's rather curt dismissal had put me on the offensive, and I stewed for a good half hour, bouncing among irritated, embarrassed, and ashamed. In the back of my mind I felt silly for being upset over something obviously so personal, but I couldn't help but petulantly persist that it was _my_ day and he should have at least been nice about it. Then I would be overcome by guilt at being so unfair to a man who had been nothing but kind to me since the moment we met, and would revert to being embarrassed. It was a good while before I once again became lost in the feel of the sun on my skin.

We had cleared the grove of trees without incident, though also without any further discovery, and were now nearly half way across what appeared to be another grassy plain. The grasses looked positively golden, green barely peeking through, and small little bugs, 'locusts', Cullen called them as he carelessly waved them away, jumped here and there, singing their discordant melodies. I loved the faint 'swish' the blades of grass made as my now dry robes rubbed against them. Every few moments, the winds would shift, and again the plain would be a sea of life.

I remember we did eventually stumble upon elfroot, though it was significantly harder to spot and far less abundant than I had read it to be. It was nestled in a large bush, and though once in plain view it was easy enough to identify, we would have missed it entirely had not Cullen spotted it on a private excursion to relieve himself and come stumbling back, stuttering over himself in his embarrassment. It was difficult to try and not laugh not only at his flustered expression, but the images that flooded my mind of him narrowly missing my quarry, to top it off. I think my failing efforts at self-restraint might have embarrassed him even more, though.

Having already collected embrium, I felt my motions proceed more smoothly, and confidently, and there was a noticeable decrease in the amount of time taken and increase in the quality of the cuts I was able to make. Irving would be proud, I remember thinking, which again brought on a barrage of emotions. Thinking of Irving made me want to cry in sadness, not in the gratitude I knew it should have been. And for it, I felt both sorry and perplexed. But I continued on, nearing the coast, and it was then I realized how small the isle really was. I suppose if a mage were to escape the tower, he or she would most likely drown in those beautiful waters of Lake Calenhad, for very few of us, if any, knew how to swim. In light of the life I had led, I began wondering if such an end would truly be so horrible. Several scenarios made their way through my overactive imagination, such that I felt almost cold beneath that unrelenting sun. I shivered.

Cullen must have detected my maudlin thoughts, and sidled up next to me, the grass crunching beneath his heavy boots, my collection jars occasionally chinking together. His eyes, too, were fixed on those terribly blue waters, but I could swear I could feel him shooting furtive glances at me when he thought I wasn't looking. I can't really explain it but…it just _felt_ like his eyes were on me—my spine tingled uncomfortably. I heard his stomach churn loudly, and couldn't resist laughing out loud, my concentration shattering completely. It was then I realized just how hungry I was, too. My stomach grumbled in harmony.

"Why didn't you tell me you were hungry?" I asked, still laughing. He looked like he was fighting a grin, too, and shrugged casually.

"I had decided to wait for you. Surely you must be hungry by now?" he asked, hopeful. I vigorously nodded the affirmative and reached for the pack still nestled into the crook of Cullen's arm.

"I've been so distracted, I've hardly had a coherent thought!" I conversationally exclaimed, still smiling, as I sat the pack on the ground. My stomach growled in anticipation as I liberated my packed stores of bread, cheese, and meat from my pack. "I'm sorry, it's not much, but…" I didn't want to tell Cullen that as I packed, I stupidly forgot to pack some for him (though I knew it not to be him at the time), so I immediately began splitting mine in half.

"I apologize," he said quickly, realizing that which I hoped to keep from him. I shook my head quickly so as to silence any protest he might offer and handed him some bread.

"Please," I said, leaning back and situating myself comfortably into the grasses. He hesitated a bit, looking around as if uncomfortable, then similarly settled himself on the ground opposite me. _A picnic by the sea_, I suddenly thought gazing out over the waters. Well, a picnic by the lake, but it was as close to an ocean that I would ever see. And I was happy.

"Is something the matter?" came Cullen's voice, and I snapped to attention, realizing how I must have looked, staring forlornly out over the water. I laughed a little as I turned my attention to my cheese, nibbling a bit on one corner, tasting nothing. Glancing up at him from beneath my lashes, I contemplated just brushing it off, keeping things light. But his eyes (and don't laugh at me when I say this!) drew me in. We both stayed silent for a long moment before I sighed, shrugging casually as I sought to choose my words carefully.

"It's just…I've never seen the sea before, you know. And just being here, with you…" I glanced around, my smile feeling mechanical even to me. "I mean I know it's not the sea, but it's bigger and more wonderful than anything I have ever seen." I felt myself tearing up again and laughed, hoping to hide it. "It all just seems so perfect. Too perfect to be real. I mean, I know it's not _not _real…" He held up his hand as my words tumbled out over each other, each eager to be heard. I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat and settled for my cheese once more.

"It's nothing like this," he said softly. I eyed him curiously, my jumbled exertions still in the forefront of my memory. He must have understand my look and nodded out to the waters. "The sea…It's nothing like this." I followed his gaze, as if his image would be there.

"You have been? Is it big?" I had asked the question honestly, my voice no doubt carrying all the wonder I had felt. But to my instant mortification, Cullen let out a sharp chuckle, which carried through his speech.

"Big? It's…bigger than the sky. It's like…standing at the edge of the world, with nothing but ocean, from horizon to horizon." His voice had the same far away quality that I had glimpsed earlier, his eyes beholden to an ocean only he could see. I realized that he meant not to mock me, but to share in my wonder, and despite the terrible twist of jealousy I felt, my curiosity overwhelmed me. I wanted to more, and yet, couldn't bear it. My chest ached as I understood that no mater how curious, how beautiful those waters may have sounded, they would never be for my eyes. Resignation is a strange, and terrible feeling. In my life I imagine I have endured my share and more of heartache. But at that moment, as every other before it, acquiescence tasted something foul. I discretely lowered my cheese, hoping Cullen wouldn't notice.

"It sounds lovely," I offered half-heartedly. Cullen glanced back to me, his eyes seeming to come into focus, brows drawing together. I think he sensed my feelings—how could he not? I must have radiated them with the power of the sun. But I couldn't stand that look of fear, that look of walking on eggshells, so pushing my food away from me, I settled onto my back once more, my vision glowing gold through closed eyes. "What was it like?" I asked at length, the cool swish of the wind tickling my cheeks. I heard Cullen shift slightly.

"You reach the sand first. Not like here—the rocks and the dirt. But sand, so fine it blows in the wind, into your hair, your clothes. Under the sun, it is hot. Your bare feet…you think they will burn. There is a great hill, grasses growing here and there. The sand is difficult to climb, and you think the dune will never end. But over the top you see it. There in front of you, just this giant, endless blue. And it's not like here, where the waters lap gently, lazily at the shore. There, the waters surge to and fro, crashing onto the shore. And the sand is cool and full of life." He stopped, perhaps to take a bite, perhaps to ask permission to continue. I smiled, my eyes still closed, his memory forming in my mind.

"And the air…the air is thick, and salty. You can taste it almost. But more than anything, it's the sound. The sound of that wind, the wind that ever blows, and the water, crashing onto the shore. Like breaths." He paused briefly before continuing in a much softer tone. "I close my eyes, and even now, I can hear them." And there, under that sun, I felt that I could too. That to his breathing danced the waters, and with every exhale they crashed upon the shore, fleeting. I felt a tear escape.

"Maybe…" I began, opening my eyes, blinking to clear my excess emotions. I found his eyes on mine, something softly muted therein. "Perhaps one day, I will see it too." He nodded after a time, and suddenly it just felt…_heavy_ between us. Like there was something to be said, or perhaps done, only neither of us knew what it was. I stared at him, and he at me, neither of us keen on our lunch anymore. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but yet again, turned abruptly away, as if pained. I sat up, as if I could will the words from his mouth, but he simply threw the food back into the pack, tied it, resettled it into the crook of his arm, and began walking away. My heart beat fast, and I clutched it beneath my robes as I stood clumsily and stumbled after him, still unsure as to what had just happened.


	7. Chapter 7

As we neared a hilltop, I could see the outline of a mill churning across the lake. Small blots that were people scurried here and there, and I suddenly felt the urge to hide. I wished we were closer to see them, to see what they were doing and how they did it. I wished I could talk to them. And yet, there probably wasn't anything in the world I wouldn't have given to be the proverbial fly on the wall.

"Is something the matter?" Cullen asked (and even I thought that phrase was starting to sound vaguely familiar), turning slightly to face me, all evidence of our previous intercourse forgot. I shook my head rather sheepishly, embarrassed at my trepidation, but remained behind his broad frame, at least partially hidden, nonetheless. He glanced back again, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he were torn between laughing and frowning. "There are many villages along the shores of the lake. Surely you know of them?" he finally remarked, noticeably slowing so that I had to hop on my toes to keep from crashing into him.

"I know!" I replied indignantly, puffing up a little.

"But…?" He continued, eyebrow cocked and voice full of mirth.

"Well…I…" I stammered, obviously deflating. But…? But…? But I was scared. The only people I ever remembered being around were other mages and templars. What were 'normal' people like? What things did they like? Would they hate me for being a mage? Would they even _know _I was a mage? I was curious, and envious, but nervous more than anything. We wouldn't be crossing the lake, so I would never have actually met them. But what if I had? It was almost a relief to be so far away, and unnoticed. "What is it like?" I asked quietly, staring suddenly at my feet. I felt ashamed for some reason, realizing how terribly familiar this situation was. I felt ashamed of the magic that flowed through my being.

"Life outside the tower?" Cullen asked, his voice sympathetic, but not pitying. He seemed to just know. He heaved a heavy sigh and turned to face me, brushing off imaginary dust from his armor. "I wouldn't really know, to be honest." I looked back at the people obliviously living their lives, heedless of the unimaginable gift it was to simply be them. "I was in the chantry most of my childhood. I had freedoms, but it was hardly what I would call 'normal'," he said in a voice I'm assuming was supposed to convey that he was indifferent. But his entire attitude spoke otherwise.

"Oh," I lamely replied, suddenly embarrassed again. It seemed I wasn't the only one wondering what it would have been like living on the other side of the glass. "Where? Where were you stationed before here?" I asked, turning to face him, my earlier trepidation lost. With no one around to watch us, to judge us, I felt my curiosity overflowing. Something about it did feel wrong, but his openness compelled me.

"Denerim. Beautiful city really, underneath all the crime and poverty," he said lightly, as if bored of my line of questioning. "Are you going to ask me what it's like?" he asked sweetly, smirking. I wasted no time in letting out a most unladylike snort of laugher, my anxiety ebbing.

"Be careful, I might," I added, rolling my eyes, still smiling. "Were you there long?" I continued, undeterred. His small gesture of good humor had improved mine immensely, but the forced nonchalance of his manner made me a bit uneasy. Perhaps not uneasy, but concerned. Irving once told me that every person that walks through the doors of the circle tower has a tale of woe—an unforgettable heartache. I'm not entirely sure who coined the phrase, or even when such a person had time for any sort of observation. From my experience, however, limited as it may be, every person that ever walked those halls, whether templar or mage, had been marked by that terrible feeling we call loss. Sometimes, it's easy to forget how acutely pain is felt, until you feel its bitter stab yourself.

Cullen sighed, scrunching his eyes tightly for moment as if they burned, his left hand coming up to massage his temple. "I was there until just recently, to be honest," he replied at last, turning away from me to look out over the waters toward the village, his hand falling back to his side, metal clinking against metal. "I was a year younger than you, in fact, when my mother died," he continued, sounding both tired and fascinated, as if he were just realizing his words for the first time. I edged closer, an unconscious desire to see his face taking control. "We lived in a small village just outside Denerim, and my father had died a few years before. When it was revealed that I had no other family, well…the chantry was kind enough to take me in and raise me, first as a brother, then later as a templar." He chuckled then, and so shocked was I that at first I thought he was perhaps choking, or something equally awful. But to find him laughing, my confusion must have been evident, for he immediately stifled his chuckle and settled for a smile.

A captivating smile. He had just intimated the most personal details of his childhood to me, a sad and very likely lonely story, and yet he smiled at me. Not a forced smile, and by no means an insincere smile. I wanted to reply—in fact, I meant to. But his gaze captivated me, confused me, and I knew not what to say. "Miss Amell, I…" he began again, his eyes meeting mine, brows furrowed. He glanced down, swallowing, before continuing. "Miss Amell, I…" but he never finished. I great roll of thunder sounded in the distance, and he instantly turned away, eyes scanning the horizon. I felt like I would literally fall over, so poised was I to hear his words. _He…what?_ I felt like I had just been denied candy and a bullet to the head all at once. My heart had begun to race, and I only felt it then as it hammered unheeded in my chest, my mind careening out of control. Belatedly, my gaze joined his on the horizon, and sure enough, the spark of lightning appeared once again in the sky, deep thunder sounding seconds later.

"We should move on," Cullen suddenly said, straightening and stepping away from me, his voice tight. His manner seemed oddly familiar, and it was with a heavy heart that I realized he reminded me vaguely of Jowan, clearly with something to say and yet an unwillingness to say it. Struck slightly dumb by his abrupt change in manner, I had thought enough only to nod and trudge unseeing along behind him as he swiftly turned and walked away, not sparing another glance back.

* * *

><p>"You believe in the maker, then…?" I voiced, my head still turned skyward. I had been examining the dark clouds that had appeared over what I guessed to be Redcliffe when my thoughts had turned back to Cullen, and the story he had related to me what had to have been a half an hour prior. I quickly drew my hands over my mouth, shocked I had actually let the question slip past my traitorous lips, and closing my eyes, I wished with each passing moment it would be socially acceptable to bludgeon my head on the nearby rocks. When he muttered an affirmative "hm" in response to my question several agonizing heartbeats later, I released a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding. Opening one eye experimentally, I examined him in my periphery. He didn't seem angry, or even offended at my gaping lack of sensitivity (or sense of propriety, for that matter).<p>

"Do you?" He asked at length. I vaguely remember praying for rain as I stopped and wiped my moistened brow on my now dry sleeve, the thunder sounding once again in the background.

"Not since I was seven," I replied evenly. I hadn't wanted to discuss it, really—it was such a sensitive topic, even among the mages—but I was the one who had started it, and I wasn't about to lie, at any rate. "If there were a maker, why did he abandon us? Not you…I mean…us—the mages?" I shook my head and sighed, still hopeful the situation wouldn't crash and burn in any second. "What I mean is…" I cleared my throat, searching for words I hoped he might understand. "I would sooner believe in the fallacy of man, than in some creator who abandoned his creations to a world with no pity for the 'crime' of which they are guilty." I searched his face from beneath my lashes, earnestly waiting for and yet scared a reply would come. The debate between mages and the chantry, even among 'normal' people, has, as you know, been hashed and rehashed. The last thing I wanted was for that day—my day—to be spoiled by a grievance that had long since staled.

"Mages are a danger, not only to normal people, but to themselves, as well." He rubbed the back of his head, something I noticed he did when he, too, searched for words. "I'm not saying I wholeheartedly agree with the approach the chantry has chosen, but I must say I agree with its goal." It may have been just me, but I could swear he examined me with hesitation and expectancy, just as I had him

"Fair enough, I guess. But are you not dangerous, too?" I stopped and reached for one of his hands, which hung limply at his sides. He drew back, suspicious of my intentions, but didn't slap me away when I clasped his hand in mine. Holding it up so the sun glinted prettily off the metallic angles, I examined it in both of my palms, turning it this way and that for good measure. "It is said the templars are to preside over the mages, maintaining the restrictions placed upon magical power. You do this, yes?" He narrowed his eyes at my questioning, more than well aware I was leading him on.  
>"To the best of my abilities, yes," he replied, his words clipped.<p>

"And yet," I continued, "in order to be the defender, you are trained to be the aggressor. You are trained to kill, so that you may save." I lowered his gauntlet, signaling that I would no longer need it to make my point. "You are dangerous—your abilities and training, in addition to the raw power you must possess, make it so—and yet you have such an ability for good." This time I held up my own, naked hand, making sure to turn it as I had done his. "This hand, and many others like it, is very much the same." I crouched down then, shifting my weight to rest on my knees and signaling for him to do the same. When he had lowered himself down, neatly setting my pack aside, I reached for his hand once again. "Will you take this off? It would be but a moment, I assure you."

"My gauntlet? For what point and purpose?" He seemed both cross and curious, the intimacy of our previous exchanges lost.

"'Twould be only to show you a thing, and nothing more," I replied, hoping my ambiguity would be no cause for alarm. "I assure you, Ser Cullen, you have nothing to fear from me," I added softly. At length he nodded his head, and proceeded to remove the appendage as I saw him do earlier that day. My heart gave an involuntary leap when I took his unarmored hand in mine, his palm resting on the ground, mine resting atop his. But it was _he_ who gave the leap when he felt my energy, my magic, course through his palm and into the cool earth beneath.

"What trickery is this?" he exclaimed, his voice breathy with surprise. His eyes alighted on mine, and I could see his panicked question behind those almond eyes. I motioned with my head back to our hands, praying his templar training wouldn't kick in, for beneath them had begun the sprouting of something small, and green. Pulling his hand away from the ground, but keeping it secured to mine by entwining my fingers through his, I kept pushing the magic through the small plant, until the sprout of a flower began to form. And then, within seconds after, a beautiful white blossom unfolded. I smiled, satisfied, and released his hand from mine.

"Do you know this flower, Ser Cullen?" Shock was still written in bold letters across his face, and he did not look up at me for many minutes, his eyes glued to the small wildflower. To my amusement, the whirring cogs in his head were nearly visible.

"Forgive me, what?" He asked, his eyes slightly dazed and unfocused. I couldn't help but smile in return.

"Do you know this flower?" I reiterated softly, hoping to sound both patient and assertive. He swallowed and nodded his head, still slightly uncertain.

"A-Andraste's Grace, it is called," he blurted, panic still evident in his voice. His eyes darted quickly between the lightly perfumed flower and me.

"It is. I have made this flower bloom, using magic," I stated, trying not to sound like the mages lecturing the apprentices. He swallowed again, his adam's apple bobbing in time. I sighed, shifting my weight onto my right hip, bringing my legs around to rest on my left. "You say I am dangerous, a monster laying in wait. But if I am Janus, are not you? Or anyone else for that matter?" I hoped my demonstration would place just the ghost of doubt—that he might stop and think of the possibilities outside the word of the chantry. Never did I mean to scare him. I sat there, trying not to look at him, probably looking as silly as I felt. Of course he would be frightened. Most young mages are frightened when they first begin to feel the stirrings of magical energy within themselves—I know I had been. I absently picked at the grass, twirling it around my fingers before I tossed it aside for a new blade.

I silently willed him to look at me, to say something—anything. But he sat, just as I sat, his naked hand cradled in his gauntlet, eyes glued to his fingers as he flexed and unflexed them. He did not _look_ frightened, or even angry, but rather that same look of pain and concentration seized his features, and his brows furrowed as if caught in a thought, an internal debate. Flex, unflex. Flex, unflex. With every moment I felt my self-hatred, my sadness, my anger at my stupidity mounting, and when I could bear it no longer, I stood, turning away so that I would no longer need witness his struggle. _My struggle_, I remember thinking. The air had gone cold, and for the first time in over 15 years I smelled the earthy scent of rain on the light breeze that drifted across my face, teasing my skin. And yet, it meant nothing. I felt suddenly numb, all emotion extinguished. Lifeless. I didn't care that my freedom had reached the end of its leash. I didn't care that I would spend the rest of my life in a tower, imprisoned, caged like a beast. I just didn't care.

I remember turning away from Cullen and just walking, my pack still discarded on the ground beside him. I remember hearing the thunder booming in my ears, the swish of the grass as the winds shifted. I remember wanting to cry as I silently extended my magic out into that sky above me, silently begging the rain to fall and wash away it all—the tower, the templars, the mages….me. The thunder roared again, and I felt my emotions surge back, like Cullen's waves crashing on the shore. I ran. Unseeing, I ran, through grasses and over hills. Through trees. And when I could run no further, my lungs burning from abuse, I sank to my knees and cried. And as I cried, I felt the clouds finally relent. The rain fell in cold sheets against my heated skin, quickly soaking my hair and robes, but I didn't care. I poured all my sadness, all my rage, all my disappointment out into that rain.

I heard Cullen's footsteps behind me, his plated boots splashing in the quickly soaking earth. I heard him stop abruptly behind me, his breathing laborious, mixing with the hiss of the falling rain. I waited, resigned to my fate, cold dread rising to my chest. Surely he was going to kill me for my actions. I heard my pack fall to the ground, splashing in the puddle of mud forming beneath my bended knees, jars breaking, and closed my eyes, preparing to feel the cold steel of his blade against my neck. But it never came. Instead, Cullen appeared before me, and before I could protest, he grabbed me by the shoulders and hauled me to my feet, his hands warm despite his being soaked. His proximity, if you can believe it, made me feel even more desperate, and I felt my hysteria rising once again. I wanted to pull away, to run so far he couldn't find me, but he held my shoulders fast, his metal digits digging into my skin through my robes.

Exhausted and cold, I had not even the energy to protest any longer. I bowed my head, unable to meet his gaze, and sobbed, defeated, there at his arms length. But when I had expected death, Cullen gave me life. And when had I expected him to hate me for my magic, I was given only the warmth and comfort of his embrace. He pulled me tightly to his chest and cradled my head, his other hand pressed firmly against my back. I hiccupped in surprise, stumbling forward a little, my cheek coming to rest against his breastplate. But my surprise lasted only a moment, as it seemed only natural to bring my arms up and pull myself against him. It just seemed right. The heat of his body warmed me through his armor, and I relaxed into him, shivering occasionally.

"I'm not a monster…" I remember mumbling, not particularly to him, or anyone, the rain still caressing my face as I pressed it into him. I thought it would go on forever when suddenly I felt Cullen pull back, his hand cradling my head tilting it up to look at him. His eyes bore into mine, haunted and intense, as he angled his face over mine, his hands coming up to cradle my chin, a breath away. I knew then life as I had known it before had ended the moment I set foot out of that tower. In retrospect, I think it had ended even before then.

* * *

><p>"And he kissed you? Out in that rain? Oh, it's so romantic!" Leliana looked beside herself with girlish delight, and I couldn't help but smile, albeit with slightly less enthusiasm, in return. Our road to the village of Haven had been overrun by bandits and darkspawn, thought mostly darkspawn, and so she and I had taken to talking late into the night when we both took watch together. Atlas, the communal mabari warhound, had taken to curling up by the fire with us, occasionally interrupting with a strategically placed whine to remind us that he was still there and needed to be scratched. I obediently leaned down to rub between his ears.<p>

"No, actually. He didn't." I laughed at Leliana's confused slack jaw expression. She was a great listener.

"What? I'm beginning to like to him less and less!"

"I was disappointed, too, rest assured. But what he actually _did_…was even more unexpected than a touch, or any kiss." I studied my perpetually dirty fingernails and fought the sudden urge to cry. I had been really good about keeping my emotions in check, I thought, considering I was reliving the most beautiful, and yet most painful moments of my short life. But this particular moment of my past had come to haunt me, even before I had left the circle. For too long I had wondered whether it would turn out to be the mistake of my life, and in retrospect, I'm not entirely sure it wasn't. I forced myself to smile, the back of my throat starting to burn from my efforts.

"Standing there in that rain, his hands on me…I thought, I even hoped, he would just tip his face down. That our lips might meet, even if it could be only once. It seemed inevitable, in any case. His eyes burned into mine, and our breaths mingled. But he didn't. Instead, he…stepped away, his entire body rigid. He looked at me hard, as if he were trying to impart some unspeakable forbidden wisdom. And then he…he turned around and backed away. From the brief flashes of lightning, I could see his head hanging, gloved hands clenched so tightly they shook." I glanced her way, sniffling and wiping unshed tears from my dry cheeks.

"I don't quite understand…" Leliana said, leaning forward on one of the stools Alistair had fashioned from a nearby felled tree. I covered my face with both my hands, ashamed that my memories still held such power over me. I was a grown woman, for Andraste's sake…and yet I couldn't even stop my own tears from falling.

"I didn't either. I stood there, almost shivering from that cold, cold rain, just staring at his back. But he didn't move. The lightning flashed again, and I could see his head now tilted back, the rain beating down on his upturned face. And I knew then. My heart clenching and my stomach turning, I understood what words he had wished to speak, but could not." I wiped my nose again, unable to meet Leliana's eyes. "He was going to let me go. He was going to let me run away—to be free. I could have run then, and he would have told Irving and Gregoir anything he wished. He would have…for me…" My voice broke as I gave into my trembling.

"Oh…no…" Leliana breathed, her voice soft and sober. I could hear what could have been tears in her voice, and took a deep breath before I continued.

"Oh yes. And for so long, I regretted not doing it. But in that moment, it felt like every piece fell into place. I fell so hopelessly in love with him. I didn't understand how, from that curiosity and attraction, had grown real love. But I didn't care. And I knew that if I ran, a fate worse than any death might befall him. And that either way, in the end, it would be my own heart that killed me." We both fell silent—me still trying to control the quiver in my voice, Leliana perhaps processing what I had relayed. I had long gotten over the awkwardness that comes with spilling your innermost secrets to another, and waited patiently for her.

"I cannot imagine how that must have felt. If you left, you would have condemned him. But to stay would mean…What did you do?" she asked after several minutes, causing Atlas to shift his head sleepily to look up at her.

"I went back, of course. I took one of his hands in both of mine, and he turned so quickly in surprise I almost slipped on that muddy earth and fell. He looked old, his rain-soaked face creased with worry, perhaps regret. But when he realized it was me, he just…he got this very dull look. His face slackened, and his eyes became hollow, the lighting reflecting off them in a way that made my skin crawl.

I wanted to tell him what it meant to me. How in those hours he had touched my heart like no had ever before—lit a fire in an icy territory I had never realized was even cold. I wanted to thank him. But any words I could have conceived died on my lips, and like he had done to me, I brought my hands up to his face. I didn't care how late we were. I didn't care that once we both stepped back through those doors, we could never touch this way again. All that mattered stood there in there in front of me—with sorrowful eyes and defeat draped over him like a curtain. I let my fingers travel over his smooth skin, so they could memorize every contour of his face and his eyes fluttered closed as my fingers traced his eyebrows, then his lips.

He shuddered when my hands slipped into his hair, my nails scratching along his wet scalp. The way he looked at me when his eyes suddenly snapped open, like inside him boiled liquid fire, made my knees literally go weak. He grabbed one of my arms in his as if to pull me away, and I opened my mouth to protest, having to blink furiously to keep the rain from running into my eyes. But I swallowed my words when his eyes flitted to and lingered on my lips, the twist of desire swirling deep within me. When his lips finally crashed onto mine, with a heat I couldn't have imagined, I felt my emotions—desperation and heartbreak—surge forward once more like those waves mercilessly crashing on the shore. His arms pulled me tightly to him, and I let my hands slip once again into his hair—my thumbs tracing the lines of his cheeks and ears. I felt one of his hands tangle into my hair, pressing me into the nook between his neck and shoulder, impossibly close, and I couldn't help but let out a choked sob, fresh tears mingling with that incessant summer rain.

I wanted to stay there, under that downpour, pressed against that man's warm skin forever. For that is what I had come to see him as…a man. And with every taste of him, every breath, I felt more like a woman, not just an abomination the world was too scared to care about. For the first time in my life, I had found love—and it hurt, more than I could ever have imagined. Every moment he held me close to his heart was every moment less we had before the order of our existence reasserted itself. I think…he must have felt the same way. "

I knew Leliana was a master at manipulation—I had seen her skill, her art, on several occasions, and it would taste a lie to say I was immune to suspicions about her behavior towards us. But seeing that tear on her cheek, one tear, I felt there would never be any doubt of her sincerity ever again. She was crying for me, and while part of me felt something like relief, it pained me to think that she felt some kind of pain on my behalf. Too many tears had been shed over this retched series of events. And yet it never seemed to be enough.

Cullen held my head tight to his armor, as if he could somehow pull me through it, all the way to his heart. His hold was so strong, so tight, I thought that if he tried, he could kill me where I stood. I wanted to pull away, and never move, all at the same time. But with every raindrop, every breath, I felt my desperation rise, until I thought I might literally suffocate of it. When I could take it no more, I pushed with everything I had, and finally broke free, stumbling backwards over the slick cobblestones. The lightning flashed again overhead, the thunder booming loudly in my ears. I could hardly see through the heavy rain that fell around us in sheets. Was it falling _for_ us? Or was it weeping for us—sad, heavy, angry tears? The lightning flashed again, and I could see both pain and panic writ on his beautiful,_ perfect_ face. I wished to never see him so, ever again.

"How…" I began, but my voice was drowned out by another clap of thunder, and I couldn't help but glance up at those tumultuous skies. "How will we bear it?" I yelled to him over the crashing of raindrops against stone, my hand clasped tightly over my breaking heart. How would we bear having feelings for someone we could never touch, never really even talk to? How could we bear being so close, and yet so far apart? I wanted to weep angry, bitter tears. I wanted to die in those moments, so that I might never know that feeling of denial. Cullen raised his hand as if to brush my hair away from my face, but let it fall midway. That hollow look still plagued his eyes, raindrops dripping from his eyelashes.

I, unfortunately, have no further memories of that day. Or the four days following it, to be precise. Sometimes I imagine I saw faces, heard a name, but nothing definitive comes to mind. I heard from Irving, some days later, that I had caught fever out in the rain, and Cullen had to carry me back. I learned that Cullen too had then fallen ill, though had recovered sufficiently to be on duty. Irving stayed with me most day, and into the night, holding my hand and telling me how proud he was. And with word I felt my stomach sink lower and lower in guilt, until once again, I was lost in the oblivion of sleep.


End file.
